Robin is the most impactful Assembly Speaker of my lifetime. Congratulations on more than two decades of service to our state and on a well-deserved retirement
Friends-
This is a tough note to write, but since a bunch of you have started to suspect something, I’ll cut to the chase: Last week I was diagnosed with metastasized, stage-four pancreatic cancer, and am gonna die.
Advanced pancreatic is nasty stuff; it’s a death sentence. But I already had a death sentence before last week too — we all do.
I’m blessed with amazing siblings and half-a-dozen buddies that are genuinely brothers. As one of them put it, “Sure, you’re on the clock, but we’re all on the clock.” Death is a wicked thief, and the bastard pursues us all.
Still, I’ve got less time than I’d prefer. This is hard for someone wired to work and build, but harder still as a husband and a dad. I can’t begin to describe how great my people are. During the past year, as we’d temporarily stepped back from public life and built new family rhythms, Melissa and I have grown even closer — and that on top of three decades of the best friend a man could ever have. Seven months ago, Corrie was commissioned into the Air Force and she’s off at instrument and multi-engine rounds of flight school. Last week, Alex kicked butt graduating from college a semester early even while teaching gen chem, organic, and physics (she’s a freak). This summer, 14-year-old Breck started learning to drive. (Okay, we’ve been driving off-book for six years — but now we’ve got paper to make it street-legal.) I couldn’t be more grateful to constantly get to bear-hug this motley crew of sinners and saints.
There’s not a good time to tell your peeps you’re now marching to the beat of a faster drummer — but the season of advent isn’t the worst. As a Christian, the weeks running up to Christmas are a time to orient our hearts toward the hope of what’s to come.
Not an abstract hope in fanciful human goodness; not hope in vague hallmark-sappy spirituality; not a bootstrapped hope in our own strength (what foolishness is the evaporating-muscle I once prided myself in). Nope — often we lazily say “hope” when what we mean is “optimism.” To be clear, optimism is great, and it’s absolutely necessary, but it’s insufficient. It’s not the kinda thing that holds up when you tell your daughters you’re not going to walk them down the aisle. Nor telling your mom and pops they’re gonna bury their son.
A well-lived life demands more reality — stiffer stuff. That’s why, during advent, even while still walking in darkness, we shout our hope — often properly with a gravelly voice soldiering through tears.
Such is the calling of the pilgrim. Those who know ourselves to need a Physician should dang well look forward to enduring beauty and eventual fulfillment. That is, we hope in a real Deliverer — a rescuing God, born at a real time, in a real place. But the eternal city — with foundations and without cancer — is not yet.
Remembering Isaiah’s prophecies of what’s to come doesn’t dull the pain of current sufferings. But it does put it in eternity’s perspective:
“When we've been there 10,000 years…We've no less days to sing God's praise.”
I’ll have more to say. I’m not going down without a fight. One sub-part of God’s grace is found in the jawdropping advances science has made the past few years in immunotherapy and more. Death and dying aren’t the same — the process of dying is still something to be lived. We’re zealously embracing a lot of gallows humor in our house, and I’ve pledged to do my part to run through the irreverent tape.
But for now, as our family faces the reality of treatments, but more importantly as we celebrate Christmas, we wish you peace: “The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned….For to us a son is given” (Isaiah 9).
With great gratitude, and with gravelly-but-hopeful voices,
Ben — and the Sasses
The texts between Conan, Will Arnett, and Jason Bateman are hilarious. Conan lost both of his parents and somehow joking about Bateman killing them is so dark and yet such a sweet way to help a friend grieve.
After being traded in 2018, Christian Yelich got his first glimpse of what it truly means to be a part of the Brewers family: “I’ve never seen anything like this town when it comes to people being nice. For real. It’s a stereotype about the Midwest, but it’s true. It’s pretty ridiculous how nice people are in Milwaukee. It’s like you’re a member of everyone’s family or something.
Even before I arrived in town in January [2018], I got a taste of that hospitality. After I got traded, it was like a whirlwind — tons of calls and arrangements. My head was spinning there for a second. I was back visiting my mother in Southern California at the time, and I wanted to get to Milwaukee to meet everyone at the fan fest, but there was just a lot going on at once. Everything was just super complicated.
Then, all of a sudden … it wasn’t....
Everyone made me feel so welcomed. I just remember sitting there on that plane with all those guys thinking about how much this organization really does seem like one big family....
We fully understand that this team is more than just a random group of guys to you all — that the Brewers genuinely mean something to you. We realize that when we’re playing well it actually affects your lives and results in a certain level of joy and happiness throughout the city … and, actually, all across the state.
That’s big for us. We truly value that.
And at the end of the day, I keep coming back to how this organization, and all those who support it, really are like one big family.
To be at our best, and most happy … we need each other.” https://t.co/SQ2pJQMhRA
Interesting spin by the local newspaper. The story could just as easily been written from the perspective that a couple of dozen Democrat activists constantly disrupted Congressman Steil's town hall event Thursday with shouting and rude behavior. https://t.co/jONlmMxNMS